


the story unknown to one

by jeien



Category: Sound Horizon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 22:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeien/pseuds/jeien
Summary: Hiver receives an unexpected visit from a dear friend and his "cat" and acquires aromanthought to have been lost.





	the story unknown to one

**Author's Note:**

> you can blame namida de wa kesenai honoo popping up on shuffle during my walk home for this

In the realm that exists between the morning and night, he sees something trying to force its way through.

He remains where he stands at the balcony, gazing up at the anomaly with a curious tilt of the head. The small, distant clump of glittering light draws closer in erratic bursts—disappearing and reappearing from another direction, until they become a swarm of squares that form directly beside him with the sound of a modern era. It chirps its phrases with a digitized lilt, ending in something that could almost constitute as a meow.

“ _Monsieur_ Overseer,” Hiver addresses. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The Overseer’s abstract form begins to shift. The squares take on certain colors, build into a certain human silhouette.  

“Am I through? Hiver, can you hear me?” the figure asks. Even though he’s merely a projection, even though his voice is a filtered dilution of its real power, Hiver smiles at the familiarity of having this person with him. Dusty white strands cascade from the crown of its head, a dark coat that’s meant to catch the wind of the night sky, trousers with blue flames peeking out from the edge of his boots. It’s a face he’s familiar with.

There’s only one difference.

Hiver can’t help but laugh quietly. “Those sunglasses don’t suit you at all.”

Noel’s face burns a vibrant pink from the blush as he shouts, “Sh-Shut up! They’re the only way Bebo can connect me to your horizon!”

 _He named the Overseer? And something so cute, too._ Hiver smiles and nods his head in understanding. “Yes, yes. It’s quite the feat and I am very grateful for the chance to speak with one of my dearest friends. I’m sure I’ll find you quite dashing once I grow accustomed to them.”   

“I’m hanging up—!”

“Don’t be so hasty, _mon petit feu_ ,” he says, holding up his hands to pacify his guest. “I’m sure it took quite a bit of your time to establish this connection between our horizons. I wouldn’t want to put your hard work to waste because of some teasing.”

It’s especially hard not to tease Noel, after all. It’s mostly because he’s come to cherish Noel as such a special existence among the brilliant lights within the grand tapestry of woven universes. He has burned down the limits of the unreachable horizon, grabbed the chains that bound them to their stories, and linked them together. He has validated the suffering of life, seen the beauty of struggle, understood and accepted the nights with the mornings admirably. He has survived.

“Fuh…?” Noel echoes with his Japanese accent. “Isn’t that food or something?”

Despite all that, he is still a young man—one who prefers a certain brand of cookies above the rest, who throws small tantrums in his apartment when he can’t find his sock that’s always under his bed, who puts his heart and wishes on display when he sings. He is also a young man who apparently mistakes a French word for a Vietnamese noodle dish.

Hiver chooses this point to move into a different topic. “Think nothing more of that matter. Now, is there something you needed of me?”

“It’s just…” Noel hesitates, pressing his lips together to form an uncertain line while his brows furrow together. It’s not a common expression for him. “Bebo caused a bit of trouble before, trying to make people happier by denying their realities. He said that he found imitations of your dolls with a distorted feed at the site of one of the alternate horizons, so you probably didn’t see it properly, if at all.”

He recalls the strange little _roman_ that appeared to him one time: the alternate horizon of a woman who would have been his mother, fractured like a red jewel that obscured image and sound. Hiver had never experienced anything like it. Somehow, though, there had been a familiarity to it that unnerved him. “You’d be correct in thinking that.”

“Yeah, so… I’m here to show you. All of it. Since you’re the guy who wants all the _romans_ and everything.”

Noel is a kind soul, but still human. He wouldn’t go to such lengths for a trivial matter, not when he has to theoretically cross universes to do so. So when the projection of Noel shifts into a large cube, Hiver honestly doesn’t know what to expect. The Overseer begins the playback—

He hears their message. It’s more than eleven letters. It’s bursting to the seams with love and hope. Even if that particular horizon is out of his reach, Hiver can feel the light on his fingertips like the dawn rays shining down upon the first snow.

— _Then, someday, you can be born!_

“You truly are kind,” Hiver says, closing his eyes as the projection forms back to Noel’s image. “I was wondering what kind of important thing you needed me to hear. I didn’t think it’d be something so inconsequential.”

Noel crosses his arms and leans his weight on one leg. It looks like such a delinquent stance. It fits him. “Well, I thought it was important. Every child should hear their parents say that they love them.”

 _Oh, mon petit feu, the burdens you bear are heavy_. He opens his eyes and walks to the image of his dear friend. “If only I could hold you, I would. Every time we meet, you soar beyond my expectations. I’m very grateful to have met you. Thank you for this.”

Once again, Noel has done something incredible. And, once again, Noel gets embarrassed to compliments about his good character. Hiver watches him scratch the back of his head, looking off to the side behind the tinted shades of the sunglasses. “Geez, I still can’t get used to how you Western guys talk sometimes. You don’t just tell a guy you’d hold them. It’ll give the wrong impression.”

“And if it’s the impression I wanted to give?”

“Huh?!”

Hiver smiles. “It’s a joke. For all the _romans_ I’ve collected, I should like to think I’ve learned to form some sense of humor.”

That thin-lipped frown from before returns, this time with the obvious air of frustration. Noel really _is_ too easy to tease.

“I’m hanging up for real now.”

“Until next time, then.”

The projection reaches up to take off the sunglasses. It begins to dissipate in a mass of squares, fizzling out like seafoam, until he is alone again. Hiver inhales deeply and looks up at his sky, where morning and night coexist.

 _Someday_ , Hiver thinks.

Until then, the flame continues to turn.  


End file.
